Alternatively

4: Back Home Again

He would have made fun of Annabeth struggling to figure out the art of piggy back rides, but he knows she would have definitely forced him to carry Tyson again. Her sympathy and understanding can only go so far and he totally got that.

Still, the urge is almost too much.

They climb through a window, landing on a fire escape and orienting themselves with their new exit plan. The humidity seeps into his bleeding back and they both tense when a hot wind brushes open wounds, but Annabeth decides they aren't close enough yet and have to keep moving up.

It's slow going, that is for sure. Even the kid falls asleep, drooling all over Annabeth's shoulder.

"Classic," he snorts, trudging up the steps behind them.

"Just you wait," she warns softly. "I'll make you wish you were never born."

He just smirks, watching Tyson's head bob as they walk. His cheeks are so chubby and his little snores are just the same as if he were fast asleep in his bed. Said bed is probably evolving and dissolving in the land of dreams by now, but he knows the family has one hell of a couch. It's got a fold out and everything.

The hair on the back of his neck prickles and he glances over, catching Annabeth's eye.

"What?"

She faces forward again with a small, "Nothing."

"It was something."

"It's stupid, forget it."

He blinks away the pesky double lens that tries to fall into place. "Nothing you could say would be stupid."

Her head tilts the tiniest bit and he just knows she's smiling, but the smile she does when he says something dumb. "It's just a question, really."

"Okay, shoot."

"Why do you do it?"

"It?"

"Watch after him," she hefts Tyson higher on her back. "You say you've followed his family, but he's adopted. Why go for him instead of the family blood?"

He frowns, pain lacing through his lower back as he steps over a roof ledge after her. "It's what I know, I'm attached."

"I think it's more than that."

"Oh, do go on."

She raises an eyebrow as they pass through another building's shadow. "Don't get all territorial, dreamer, I just have a theory."

"I'm not territorial," he huffs. "Just don't like it when a snatcher tries telling me why I do my job."

"I am a snatcher," she agrees, reaching up to pull another rusty ladder down. "That's why I can confidently say you've been robbed."

He does not like the sound of that.

"There are several blank spots, patches, even. It's all very well done, pieced together like nothing's missing, but I can see the seams."

"Wait," he stops on a landing, staring through the grated ground. "Someone took my memories?"

"I couldn't take yours if I wanted to."

It's bizarre; he had always felt like there was a point he wasn't getting or a secret to the drive he just didn't know. Everyone around him followed their bloodlines diligently, yet none seemed to possess the same need he did when it came to the kid. Still, he knows everything is there; how can it not be? He knows who he is just as much as any catcher, he can remember as far back as his first day, his first dream, and everything since. How can there be something missing? What is missing?